Sorelli
by The Phantom Parisienne
Summary: A sweet little phluff phic about Philippe/Sorelli. I'm vaguely considering continuing, but for now it's a one-shot. I've never seen anything with this pairing, so I thought it would be a fun concept to toy around with.


Disclaimer: I don't own any bit of it, sadly.  Though owning Erik and Philippe wouldn't be too bad . . . 

A/N- All right, all right.  Some of you musical-based-people are probably saying to yourselves, "what the hell is she on???" but I can safely say that this pairing was hinted and quite obviously mentioned in the novel.  The excerpt below is what I am going by as basis for this little story. 

"I know it was said that Philippe was 'on the closest of terms' with La Sorelli.  But since he was a bachelor and therefore had large amounts of free time, especially now that his sisters were married, it was surely no crime for him to come and spend an hour or two after dinner with a dancer who, though far from being renowned for her sparkling wit, had the prettiest eyes in the world."

                 ~_From Gaston Leroux's_ Le Fantôme de l'Opéra

I apologize for any mistakes with characterization and description in the text, especially with Sorelli, who was very difficult to find characterization references for. _  I really did try hard to work for accuracy in these areas.  Reviews are greatly appreciated!  Also, the description of Raoul is based mostly upon a mental image when I think of him directly after the Perros-Guirec episode.  He's so pitiful in this I sort of like him. O.o;

Thank you **so** much, Heart Throb, formerly known as Labyris, for encouraging me to write this pairing and for reading the prelims.  I know they weren't very good . . . but I'm strangely proud that I conquered this story.

Also, to anyone who followed the short stories I wrote at the beginning of my time at FF.net, this is interwoven into _that _plot, i.e. the original Leroux novel's plot: R/C at the end, resulting in Erik's death.  Raoul and Christine flee to Scandinavia, they vanish.  And . . . NOW YOUR FEATURE PRESENTATION!!  

Ahem. 

"_Sorelli_"

by The Phantom Parisienne

The applause swelled to a great crescendo filled with cries of "Bravo!" as the dancers gracefully bowed to the full Opera house.  One ballerina in particular caught the eye of the Comte de Chagny, who, as it was, often visited the dancers' lounge in the Opera to see this beautiful star of the show.  He stood up, smiling, as his pale, youthful brother remained seated, his hands clapping slowly and nervously.  Philippe had come to the assumption that Raoul was lovesick; quite so that it had led him to become delusional.  _Raoul claims to have seen the Opera ghost; claims the ghost has a real name of his own.  Erik, I do believe it is.  What ridiculous stories he tells! _That Christine Daaé's stories had changed the way he saw the world.  The Opera ghost _was_ of course, only a legend.  _Only a youth mad with love would believe the outrageous tales!_ Philippe had told himself repeatedly.  _Raoul will overcome his infatuation with the singer, and then all will be right again._

His rather hard features twisted into a smile as the beautiful dancer glanced up at the private box.  If he didn't know better, he would have sworn that their eyes had locked.  Philippe broke the strange stare that they both gave and turned to Raoul, fatherly concern showing for his child-like brother.  "Why, Raoul! you're not even enjoying the ballet!  What is wrong?"

"It's the ghost, Philippe...this is his Opera."  Raoul stared straight at the railing of the box.  "What he wants, he gets.  He wants her.  And I saw him at Perros-Guirec, when he played the violin for her.  Christine's not safe anymore; she's been with him—"

Philippe cut him off.  "Enjoy the ballet and stop fretting over the Daaé girl.  She tells you ridiculous stories that you are foolish enough to believe and I will not have it!"  More quietly, he said, "You really do love her, but perhaps it's better if you don't see her.  It's affecting you both mentally and physically." 

It was true.  Dark circles curved under Raoul's clear blue eyes, the whites of which were now a strange scarlet.  The products of lack of sleep and the nerve-wracking constant thought of his beloved Christine had changed him.  As Raoul applauded the dancers whom he had not quite watched, his hands shook slightly and he unconsciously breathed the soprano's name.  His normally neatly combed and shiny golden hair was tousled, frizzy, and dull.  The once-starched collar of his finely tailored coat was wrinkled and his tall hat, resting underneath the velvety armchair where Raoul sat, was slightly dented.  

"Philippe, I love her.  I'm not giving up; the stories are true."  With a great sigh, he reached for his hat and began to exit.  "Good-bye, Philippe.  I need to rest."

Philippe turned and watched Raoul vanish through the door before returning to enjoying the applause that the prima ballerina was receiving.  "Youthful fantasies and childish love never last."

@--------^-----------

La Sorelli peered through the mass of top hats and flashes of snow-white shirts for the Comte de Chagny.  It was not an easy task, as every single gentleman wore a near identical copy of the next opera-goer's evening clothes.  Fortunately, the count was a man of height, and his hat poked above the swarm of men just barely enough to be spotted by Sorelli's bright green eyes.  There was something about her eyes that could cause a man to stare straight into them for (usually) prolonged periods of time.  They glimmered, they danced, they sparkled, and they caught the light.  Sorelli's eyes functioned as any ordinary ones would, but they stuck in memories and visions. The count himself often found his thoughts wandering to Sorelli's eyes during particularly dull times.

Her garish stage makeup, dark blonde hair in a severely-pulled French twist and short-skirted costume made her stand out like an inkblot on parchment among the swallow-tailed coats worn by the nobility attending the ballet that night.  All in the room could at once see that she, La Sorelli, was a dancer and performer as slid through the crowd and made her way towards Philippe, smiling modestly.  Once they met, both obviously pleased, he chivalrously lifted her hand to and brushed his lips across her fingers.  "_Bonsoir, mademoiselle_," he said politely.  "The ballet was absolutely exquisite this evening."

"Ah, Monsieur le Comte, _merci beaucoup_."  She smiled, her eyes gleaming.  "What a pleasant surprise."  Sorelli had, of course, been expecting Philippe to come down to the dancers' lounge just as he did on every other night when she danced.  The group of gentlemen shifted as friends met friends and lovers met lovers.  Philippe and Sorelli were no exception as they drifted towards Sorelli's dressing-room; champagne, soft words, and a very bright pair of green eyes in store for the next few hours.


End file.
